


Cutlery

by Onehundredcandlesburning



Series: Cutlery [1]
Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston Fandom
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Friendship/Love, Temporarily Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-19 20:04:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1482229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Onehundredcandlesburning/pseuds/Onehundredcandlesburning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ella and Tom find their relationship changing. This is the tale of their personal challenges and the fears, frustrations and flight of finding love between best friends.</p><p>To see a copy of the 'playlist' and some photo boards that aid me in writing this work, visit here: <br/>http://onehundredcandles.tumblr.com/cutlery</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Red Wine and Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ella Rawlings is a complex character. Full of bravado and front, but beneath a very insecure and protective inner child. Her best friend, an actor who she hasn't seen for some time, has just returned from filming and contacts her wanting to catch up.

Ella wiped her hands over her apron before reaching around and undoing the tie at the back. Another shift over and done with. Her bones ached after a week of chaos. The café had just opened and it had been a rousing success, but she felt she hadn’t worked this hard since the days she had started out in hospitality. She had regrets, and had always promised herself she would live without them, unfortunately life never panned out the way she had hoped and after ten years in the industry she felt a change was long overdue. Something clicked inside her, until this point it had been pushed into the recesses of her mind, making room for fun, frivolity and the moment. 

Perhaps it was time to grow up. Perhaps it was time to make the change she should have made years ago but never found the motivation to do. 

Kit stuck his head out from the small galley kitchen doorway. He looked as tired as she did, but seemed to have an air of satisfaction about him. He was obviously passionate about what he did and this was his place after all. 

“You can finish up, Ella. Thanks for all your help. Couldn’t have done it without you.” He smiled, his crooked teeth seemed to suit him. He was handsome in an alternative way. Lived in his converse sneakers, always wore a fedora when he wasn’t in ‘work’ mode and had a thing for corduroy and suede. His specs sat neatly on the bridge of his nose, right behind the ridge that had formed from where it had been broken on a rebellious drunken night. Faint remnants of his Australian heritage slipped through between the stock standard Brit accent he’d developed over the years of residing here. 

“See you in the morning?” She tried to hide the yawn, but it escaped.  
“That’ll be fine. Thanks!” he disappeared behind the door, the sound of a spray bottle and tang of bleach. 

Ella folded her apron and reached behind the counter, tucking it into her old airline-style bag. Picking it up to sling it across her body diagonally. She checked her phone. Five thirty pm and it was black outside. It buzzed in her hand as she pulled her coat on and tightened her scarf. She looked down at the picture that flashed up and grinned like a woman possessed. It was Tom. 

“You’re back?” She held it against her ear.  
“I’m back, baby. You have any plans this evening?” His voice was like honey and the familiarity of it soothed her troubled state of mind.  
“None. But apparently I do now! What time do you want me around?”  
She fished in her pocket for keys. She always walked home with them laced between her fingers, especially after having been mugged a few years ago.  
“Whenever you’re ready. God, it’s good to hear your voice.” He sighed. She could picture him in her minds eye. Slowly turning into a pool of mush as he relaxed back into his home environment. 

“Give me fifteen minutes.” Ella's voice over the phone was already providing comfort.  
“Shall I add another half an hour to that, Lala time?” Tom jibed.  
“You know how it is.”  
“Always has been that way, always will be.”

“Need anything?” She pounded along the street towards the little two bedroom flat she shared with Helen – an air hostess who was rarely home. Only a few blocks to go. She felt like she lived in a dog-box, but it was the only affordable accommodation in this area and allowed her to get to and from work quickly without the need to pack onto public transport. All she could think of was a hot shower, a change of clothes, pack and fly like the wind to Tom. Usually a ten minute walk, she was sure she’d make it in five tonight easily. 

“Uhmmm… hang on.” He pulled the cupboard open. “Yes!”  
“McVitties in the cupboard?” Ella laughed at his exclamation.  
“You know it.”  
“Okay, see you soon, hon. Shall I bring a white or red?”  
“Oh… I’m about to have a cup of tea... Hmmm… Red tonight I think. Will go with the chocolate biscuits and the cold weather. “  
“Right you are. Mwah. I’m on my way.” 

She hit the screen and tucked the phone back in her pocket. Deciding exactly which bottle she’d take with her. It was sitting in her wine-rack on the kitchen bench, and had his name all over it. She’d tucked it aside as a spur of the moment purchase a few months ago. 

The flat was bitterly cold after being empty all day. She decided against flicking the heating on, considering she wasn’t planning on sticking around long enough to sit still and need the warmth. She pulled the apron out of her bag and kicked her shoes off, padding through to the bathroom that also doubled as laundry. A small washing machine tucked neatly against the wall in front of the toilet. She flicked the apron in and threw a container full of detergent in. A full load ready to go. 

The water from the shower was perfect. Steaming, hot, like a thousand tiny needles pricking at her skin. It hurt at first, but she soon settled into the sensation and sighed heavily, feeling every muscle across her tight shoulders start to relax. 

A million thoughts buzzed through her head. She’d started writing again, something she hadn’t done for a very long time. Even picking up on a piece she had been working on back in University. She never did finish and that was her regret. Ella was going to be a playwright once upon a time, but had given up once the going became challenging. One of the numbers that fell through the cracks. The same year her father had passed away and her mother decided to make a new beginning on the other side of the world, unable to cope with the memories that surrounded her. 

She had contemplated returning to finish her degree through the London Met, but as she had left it too long she would have to start all over from scratch. She knew she had to do something, to change her direction and to follow her passion. The familiar feeling of it all being too hard had crept up on her and this time she angered at it’s nip at her heels. Determined to do something differently this time rather than file it away to be angered by another day. She felt the frustration at herself build, especially when she had any contact with Tom. He had made it through, he was bloody-minded; determined when he set his sights on something and had a work ethic that would put most to shame. 

It had always intimidated her how he could focus so clearly on a goal and achieve it with aplomb. It also irritated her. She flicked the taps, reaching for her towel and stepping out onto the cold tiles, rapidly soaking up the droplets of water from her skin before the air had a chance to steal the heat from her. 

She settled on the most comfortable clothing she could find. Her daggy purple polar fleece pants, that were actually novelty men's pyjama bottoms. Her oversized black hooded sweatshirt with a black thermal underneath. Fluffy socks and faithful black converse. She ran around, gathering a change of clothes for work in the morning, flicking the machine off at the power point and pulling the wet apron out. She quickly pulled the other items across the tiny clothes hanger connected to the wall above and chucked the apron in a plastic bag. It would have to dry at Tom’s. At least he had a clothes dryer. 

She ran a brush through her damp hair and pulled it back into two pigtails. Not long enough to do much else with. She cringed in the mirror at the amount of regrowth she had. A dark streak down the middle of her head, flecked with traces of grey. Already! She recalled her Mum with raven black hair going ghost white by the time she was thirty. Even though she had her father’s natural mousey dark blonde colouring, the greys were genetic throwbacks from her mother. The red that tinged the rest of her hair had started to fade. Perhaps another thing that could change, seeing as she was in the midst of deciding to take herself more seriously. 

Ella checked the time on her alarm clock and panicked, snatching up her overnight bag and clasping the wine bottle by the neck in her hand as she flew back out the door. 

She ran, hell-bent on making it on time to Tom’s. She had felt a pang hit her gut when he had said he’d expect her in a half hour rather than the fifteen minutes she’d stated. Was she really that unreliable? How embarrassing. No wonder she was stuck working in a café making coffee for the throng of folk who took their lives a little more seriously. Again her mind drifted as her bag bounced off her behind, swinging the overnight bag by her side as she ran. Keys laced through fingers carrying the wine. Double ammunition should anyone decide to have a go, mind you would be a terrible waste of a perfectly delicious cab sav. 

Where she could be now if she’d only finished her degree and taken herself more seriously then. She was her own worst enemy and few people knew it. She wasn’t even sure that Tom, her best friend for over a decade, knew the extent to which her self-hatred went. He had joked with her once that she should have been an actress, as gregarious as she was and constantly entertaining others.  
He hadn’t laughed so hard as the time they sat together and did a magazine personality test. She was listed as an Introvert. He almost died. Then for someone she considered her best friend, he only knew what she had chosen to show him. 

That was the tip of the iceberg. The fun-time girl. The clever clogs with the smart mouth and great taste in music and alcohol. One of the boys who could hold her own and dish out as good as she got. The clown. She wondered if he saw through that. They hadn’t managed to see a lot of each other since his career took off to the stellar level he sat at now. Jet setting around here and there and rarely with time to speak on the phone let alone catch up in person. Yet, when those moments did come they were as though time stood still and they were two carefree late-teens again. 

She adored him. Always had. His smile was infectious and ever-present. His eyes always made her weak at the knees when they’d lock onto hers, especially when she would speak and he’d hang on her words. He never broke eye contact with her when she spoke, and she noticed that about him with everyone. Attentive and well-versed in the art of active listening. Her head swam. It was something she’d carried a very long time and always put in the box with everything else she tucked aside to deal with ‘later’. With opening the box and pulling her writing and idea of study back out again her feelings and thoughts and memories of Tom came tumbling out. Shit. Not now. He had always made it clear he had a ‘type’ and she knew full well that she was so far outside that classification. 

No long brown hair. Hers been died every colour of the rainbow, half of it shaved, braids, dreadlocks. She expressed herself through her hair and made a stance against the conventional in her dress sense also. However, always the consummate professional in the work environment, particularly in the early days of silver service. She sill remembered Tom’s horror as she pulled her hair off her head after the first shift. A long brown wig. Another reason he had given her for being an actress. Her chameleonic nature and ability to step into character when she needed to. At least now in her current job she was able to be herself. Kit himself was quite left of centre and the retro styling of the café allowed her to blend in with the anodized teapots and chrome and formica dining settings. 

She didn’t have an air of grace and class about her at all. She tripped over her own feet and couldn’t dance properly to save herself (that never stopped her from doing it though). She hated wearing heels, hated the idea of designer labels and raged against all forms of constraints. How ironic she fell into the work she did. Through a friend of her Mother’s who was involved in the planning of the event, and for the sake of a paycheck she did what she had to and met some wonderful people as a result, Tom the most wonderful of all. 

They came from such different worlds and she had often chastised herself for wondering if she had maintained the façade of being the character she portrayed whilst at work, if Tom would have fallen for her. She dismissed the thought quickly, knowing full well that she would far rather have the friendship they had and be true to herself and with him rather than trying to be something she wasn’t, just for the sake of having his love. She had picked up the pieces for him a million times over women he’d grown ‘attached’ to and it hadn’t worked out in the past. At least as his best friend she managed to be an intimate part of his life for over a decade. She had his love, just not in the way he had hers, and he’d likely never know. He couldn’t know. It would ruin everything. He’d never be romantically interested in someone like her. 

It always pained her to comfort him when another break-up occurred, but a small part of her relished in having him want only her to be with him and guide him through the process. The last woman he’d allowed himself to develop feelings for almost broke him. Since then, he had remained single and only dated casually. His guard up. It may have had something to do with the woman spouting off her big mouth around work as to who she was sleeping with and being alerted by his publicist that the internet had rumours flying around from some of her work colleagues. Really? He couldn’t afford to fall for someone with a big mouth and minimal tact regarding their private relationship. He counted himself lucky they hadn’t developed further and she hadn’t seen aspects of him that could be potentially damaging to his career. Ella had seen them and remained steadfast and silent. She’d seen his temper in full flight, knew his shadow-side and certain flavours. If not experiencing them herself, through him talking openly about them with her. 

She gave herself a proverbial slap to the cheek as she approached Tom’s place. He’d left the gate open for her. How thoughtful. That was him all over. She clicked it behind her and bolted down the drive to the door, landing on the step with a thud. She hit the buzzer and waited, panting, out of breath but still warm from the shower and the run. She had made it!


	2. Cutlery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom has known Ella a long time and she is one of the only people that can ground him, aside his family. After a particularly arduous filming schedule he returns home and notices a few things have changed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This originally began as a one-shot. It was set up as a series. I have altered so it reads in chapters. Original series post is here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1443439

Her company was soothing, simply put. When he couldn’t be bothered and wanted to lock himself away from the outside world, but not to be alone, she was usually the first port of call. They’d known each other since the ‘pre-Thor’ days, as he referred to them. She had worked the Garsington Opera Festival with him in 1999 whilst he was studying, before the acting work started to come in. Waiting tables, dealing with rude, abrupt customers. They bonded with their workmates at the end of the festival with an all night session on the left over wine. It always ended with Tom passed out, Ella nursing the beginnings of a nasty hangover. She’d curl up at his front and he’d instinctively bend around her, keeping her warm. Over the years as he started to get income through his art, they stayed in touch and had certain rituals in place. One of which was a movie night on-call. 

He’d just returned from filming in Canada and was contemplating joining some friends for a few quiet ones, having been harangued via text since the plane touched tyre to tarmac. He turned the key in his front door and felt his phone vibrate in his pocket again. With burgeoning rapidity between the texts, he felt the urge to be around people weighing less and less upon him. It was the moment the heavy black-glossed door with the small brass knocker pushed open where his decision was made. He inhaled the scent of his home and sighed, filtering each memory, each comfort he found himself craving and exhaling the remnants of the trip away. 

He dropped his bag and reached into his pocket. Tapping out a brief, succinct reply.  
“No go. Too tired. Talk soon.” And hit send. He kicked his shoes off at the heel, leaving them beside his bag under the coat hooks on the wall, shouldering off his heavy jacket to hang it. He padded through to the kitchen. He ran his fingertips along the counter, taking every detail of his abode in. Savouring the feeling. This he enjoyed the most about being away. Coming home. Shutting the door. Having no fear of interruption and feeling completely at ease and free to be himself and not have to pretend to be anyone else. He relished in the moment before lifting the kettle to weigh it, pop the nozzle under the tap and fill it just enough for one single cup. He flicked the switch and smiled at the feint blue light. 

The silence was deafening. Especially after a day of chaos and crowds. Weeks, months of living out of a hotel room. He contemplated which music to play and settled on a softly rhythmic soundtrack. Moby’s ‘We are all made of stars’. Yes. Instantly from the moment he placed his phone in the dock and the speakers powered up, he had a flashback appear behind his eyelids like a flickering projector on a large white sheet.

* * * * *

“I knew you’d like this…” Ella bounced from foot to foot, the rhythm setting into her bones.  
“It’s fucking amazing, Lala.” Tom grinned, downing the last of the liquid in his glass.  
The year was 2002. Moby had just released ‘18’, his sixth studio album and Tom had been looking forward to hearing it. Ella had managed to get a copy the morning it came out and was playing through it. He'd invited her over to watch his performance in The Gathering Storm. 

“Have you seen the filmclip?” She landed with a thud on the small battered love seat next to her friend.  
“Never managed to catch it from the beginning. But love the premise behind it.”  
“You’re better than any of them. You’ll be there one day. Up amongst the stars.”

“Pfffttt…” Tom waved his hand, dismissive of her praise. He firmly believing that he was destined for something, but unsure what at this stage. He loved acting, had always performed since he could string words together and toddle about. But to think of anything beyond the life he was carving out for himself? Simply didn’t bear consideration at this stage. He had a plan set out for himself and wasn’t about to deviate off it. Especially considering he stood staring down the barrel of the next few years within University walls. At least he could still perform whilst feeding his mind. He felt great purpose standing on the stage. Like it was his true calling, regardless of the argument he’d had with his Father over it. He knew there would likely be many more disagreements to confront as he trimmed his sails. But here and now he was anchored at Cambridge. 

* * * * *

“Give me fifteen minutes.” Ella's voice over the phone was already providing comfort.  
“Shall I add another half an hour to that, Lala time?” Tom jibed.  
“You know how it is.”  
“Always has been that way, always will be.”  
“Need anything?”

Tom pulled the fridge door open, doing a quick inspection. Joyous that there was, as usual, an ample fresh supply of eggs, milk and a bag of oranges ready for juicing in the morning. He had never regretted giving Archie a copy of his key. Archie worked for his Publicist and was diligent about ensuring Tom had his main supplies topped up to arrive home to, and that everything was in order. He’d must have been there not all that long before Tom had pulled up in the Taxi. The vanilla candle burning in the centre of the kitchen island that doubled as a table. 

“Uhmmm… hang on.” He pulled the cupboard open. “Yes!” Ella laughed at his exclamation.  
“McVitties in the cupboard?”  
“You know it.”  
“Okay, see you soon, hon. Shall I bring a white or red?”  
“Oh… I’m about to have a cup of tea... Hmmm… Red tonight I think. Will go with the chocolate biscuits and the cold weather. “  
“Right you are. Mwah. I’m on my way.” 

Tom poured the boiling water out of the kettle into one of the white china cups he’d laid out in a saucer. He relished the waft of fragrant steam that rose up. The next song clicked over. Bodyrock. He danced over to the fridge again, pulling out the milk and kicking it shut with his heel. Sliding across the polished wooden flooring in his socks.  
“Great album.” He mumbled to himself. He’d recently purchased the Best of Moby on iTunes after hearing Porcelain on one of the breaks during filming. He'd had the disc somewhere but in amongst the state of his office at home, but decided to splash out on the digital version so he could listen on the flight home. 

“Right... Changed.” He placed the milk next to the cup, allowing it time to steep. He spun on his heel and dashed to the door, suddenly feeling more energy from the music and knowing Ella was on her way. One of his dearest friends. God the shite they got up to years ago. He chuckled. It had been six months since he’d seen her and nothing cemented him feeling at home more than a movie night with Lala. 

He grabbed his bag and raced up the stairs, his long legs easily clearing two steps at a time. 

* * * * *

“Dahhhhhling!” Tom held his arms out wide for his friend who was standing on the doorstep, cradling a small overnight bag and a bottle of wine.  
“Twhiddleston!” Ella crashed through the door. Falling into a big bear hug with her friend. Tom always gave the best hugs, and it had been a long time between them.  
“Shit, you’re on time. What happened?” He took the bottle from her hand as she threw her bag down and followed him.  
“I had to develop some… discipline.” She scoffed. 

“I'm impressed, La.”  
“I guess I’ve started the process of growing up, finahhhhly.” She rolled her eyes, propping herself up at the bench on one of the stools.  
“You eaten?” He began opening the bottle. “I thought we could order in if you hadn’t. I’m starving. Thai?”  
“With red? God you were always hopeless about wine.”  
“Give me a break! I can tell you the best spirits and list the finest ales in a heartbeat.”  
“Okay. We won’t start that one up again.”

Ella jumped down from the stool, rifling through Tom’s cupboard.  
“Nothing in there.”  
“Okay. I’ll call down to Carluccio's. I can run down and pick it up.”  
“Are you sure?”  
“Not a problem. Usual?”  
“Please!”  
“Your shout, moneybags.” She playfully pinched his side as he pulled out the cork from the bottle, allowing it to breathe before their meal was ready. 

Ella wandered off to the other room, babbling on her phone, placing the order.  
He laughed. She always spoke a million miles an hour when she had to get something done. It was as though she had it bottled up and let it out in a geyser. 

* * * * *

“Comfy now?” He dragged the foot stool closer. A big brown leather rectangle. Big enough to act as a single bed if need ever be. He sat back and kicked his feet up, crossing them at the ankles.  
“What the hell have you got on your feet? I didn’t notice before.” Ella bit back laughter at Tom’s ugg boots.  
“They’re comfortable!”  
“They’re fucking atrocious.”  
“Oh ye of style and sophistication!” Tom picked at Ella’s bright purple polar fleece pants between his thumb and forefinger.  
“They’re comfortable.” She screwed up her face. Point made. 

Ella shuffled back, sinking into the leather surrounds, pulling over the black crocheted blanket next to her and draping it across both their laps. Tom reached over to the side, grabbing their wine glasses.  
“M’lady.”  
“Why thank you, kind sir.” She took the glass and sank her shoulder into position under his raised arm. He dropped it back down across her, behind her head, controller in hand.  
“What’s our viewing pleasure tonight, La?”  
“Gentleman’s choice.” 

Tom pressed a few buttons, settling on ‘Heat’.  
“Really? Haven’t you seen it enough?” Ella playfully elbowed him in the ribs.  
“Oof… La! You’ll bring my branzino back up!” Tom grunted, holding his wine glass against his stomach, satisfyingly full from the meal.  
“Meh. It’s a great film. As long as you don’t recite the whole damned thing like you did last time.”

Tom pulled the blanket up and snuggled in against his friend.  
“I make no promises, darling.”


	3. Spooning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Ella discover something in each other they had fought against recognising for the duration and sake of their friendship.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This originally began as a one-shot. It was set up as a series. I have altered so it reads in chapters. Original series post is here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1446448

The flicker from the power-save device connected to the television woke Ella up. She was curled up on her side, Tom wrapped around her as usual. He had, as expected, been unable to contain himself and re-enacted certain scenes throughout the film. Small mercies that it hadn’t been the entire film, including spot on impersonations of De Niro, Pacino, Kilmer and basically every other character. He had managed to narrow it down to simply De Niro and Paccino. He made her laugh with the expressions his face would contort into, not just using their voices but taking them into himself. 

They must have been tired. She remembered making to the end of the film and seeing it start up again as they stretched out to spoon and get comfortable. Spooning. Tom was a master at it. He wasn’t particularly fond of being spooned as much as he enjoyed the ‘spooner’. On the odd occasion though, he would let Ella wrap around him. A fairly easy task for the tall woman, considering his lithe frame. They could have been mistaken for being related as their frames were almost identical aside from gender. She remembered how funny it felt to wrap around him for a change and how he’d press himself back against her, moulding her around his back, bottom and winding his legs around hers until his feet were underneath her feet. 

He was snoring lightly in her ear. His breath tickled her, the sounds making her giggle lightly.  
“Twhiddleston?… Tom?... Thomas??” She shifted, lifting his arm from over her side and rolling off the sofa onto the soft cream carpet. She lifted on her knees, leaning her elbows against the brown leather and watching him flop forward in her absence. His nose pressed against the leather, he snorted and woke himself up.  
“Wha..?” He lifted his head, bleary-eyed and confused. He rolled onto his back and rubbed his knuckles against his eyes.  
“What time is it, La?”  
“Just gone midnight. Bed?”  
“I think so…” a loud, wide-mouthed yawn as he sat up with a groan. Clutching the black blanket and casting it aside as he swung his long legs around. “Up you go, get into your pyjamas and I’ll make sure everything is switched off.” He muttered through another yawn. 

Ella grabbed her overnight bag and lifted herself up the stairs as Tom made it to his feet, wandering off in the direction of the kitchen for a glass of water. He scratched at his disheveled hair and then the side of his face. By the time he’d downed his water he felt decidedly more awake. He switched everything off, lastly the range-hood light, and started to make his way up the stairs. 

He stood in the doorway, and reached down to scratch at himself through his track pants. For all the class he portrayed to the outside world, he was still the 18-year-old slightly awkward, gangly, hormone-ridden kid Ella remembered.  
“You’ve changed…” His brow furrowed as he focused on her, pulling back the covers.  
“How?” she scoffed, sitting on the Egyptian cotton sheet.  
“I don’t know. But there’s something different about you. For one, you were on time tonight.”  
“Well, I have to be responsible now with work.”  
“You still at the little…”  
“No. I’m the Barista at the new place near the station. Just past Glenloch?”  
“Nice! When you next working?”  
“Tomorrow morning actually. Want to come to work with me? I’ll organise some breakfast.”  
“Sold.” He lifted his t-shirt off over his head, showing off the feint outline of a bruise just under his arm.  
“Ouch?”  
“It’s nothing, La. All part of the job.” He smiled wearily, touching his fingertips to it. Inspecting the colour and pain levels. 

She got comfortable, rolling on her side and reaching pick her phone up off the bedside table setting the alarm.  
“What time do you want to get up?”  
“My body clock is on 6am Toronto time still.”  
“Running?”  
“Always, La. You know that.”

“Okay. I’ll get up with you. Six hours. Shit. Not enough hours in the night.”  
“Or the day.” Tom yawned again, a loud bellow. He quickly pulled his track pants off leaving nothing but his boxer briefs and clambered into bed behind her. He cuddled up, wrapping his arms around her. She lifted her head at his prompting, his arm snaking underneath to rest between the crook of her neck and the pillow. He knew it would end up riddled with pins and needles but he’d planned to be asleep by that stage. He chuckled. 

“What’s so funny?” She wriggled, feeling the shaking of his body at her back as he laughed.  
“Let me put it this way… if you came to lay your sleeping head against my arm or sleeve, and if my arm went dead, or if I had to take my leave at midnight, I should rather cleave it from the joint or seam than make a scene or bring you round. There, how does that sound?”  
“Always with the Armitage, you sly dog.” Ella pushed back against his frame. Both making little murmurs of comfort, wrapped in the plush bedding. Cold, blustery wind whipping the drizzle outside. 

“Why did nothing ever happen with us?” Tom’s voice was settled low in his throat.  
“Because I want what you can’t give me, and I would drive you to drink.” She held her breath and wondered if he could feel that she had stopped moving. Her heart beat faster. She had wanted the conversation with him so many times but each time had caught herself. Knowing him inside out, and knowing that he would never put their friendship at risk for the sake of chancing anything more. 

“Oh…”  
“Why do you ask, after all these years?”  
“I’m not quite sure. I guess I hadn’t thought of it until now.”  
“Well, thanks. That makes me feel a complete object of affection.” Changed? How had things changed? What was he thinking? For the first time since she met him she felt as though she hadn’t a clue what was in his head. It unnerved her. She second guessed herself. Doubted. Wondered.  
“I’m sorry, Lala. Forget I said anything.”

Ella frowned. Her stomach rolled, a knot forming deep within. A long time ago she had resigned herself to the fact that she wasn’t ever going to be anything more than what they were here and now and she appreciated the fact she was where she was. So near and dear to him in this form. That satisfied her, until now. She felt he had lifted the lid when Pandora had her back turned. 

“I can’t simply forget you said that, Tom.”  
“No, Lala. Let’s just be.” He was terrified he had even mentioned anything. He needed to get his head clear. Work out what this was before opening up to Ella about it. The first time he had censored himself around her. It felt odd. Like a wall was slowly being erected between them. It angered him, he angered himself. 

She contemplated wriggling free from his embrace for a moment. Her mind now ticking. Had he contemplated it too? Was he contemplating it now?  
“Tom…”  
“What is it?” He was biting at his bottom lip. This change troubled him. He couldn’t understand it. He couldn’t pinpoint what was happening, but it felt different somehow. Still lovely, without expectation and so warm and familiar, but different. It troubled him. Had her skin grown softer? Had her conditioner changed? He inhaled quietly.  
“I think we need to talk.” Summoning all her strength she felt the timing was right. 

He froze. He had never wanted to have this conversation with her. He had been aware in the early days of their friendship that she had feelings for him, but they fortunately seemed to diminish over time. She was too precious in his life to risk ruining. She had been hurt before and he’d witnessed it, been there to pick up the pieces. She’d also witnessed what a cad he could be given the right amount of alcohol and the right circumstances. They just accepted each other, warts and all and this friendship had grown into a part of each individual. Another limb. Another organ tucked away inside their bodies. He had never looked upon her as anything other than his dear friend. His soul mate of sorts. She wasn’t unattractive to him at all physically, but he’d just never looked upon her like that before. What lay inside her meant so much more to him. 

“La…” his tone was slightly rasped. Tired. His response forced her to bury her feelings. Swallowing them.  
“Never mind.” She relaxed again. Letting him pull her closer. She felt every inch of him pressed against her and closed her eyes tightly as they began to water. 

“I love you, La. That’s all you need to know.” He pressed his lips against the back of her head. Lifting his hand from her side to tuck her hair out of his face so as he didn’t pull upon it resting his head back down on the pillow.  
“I love you, Tom.” She could feel his heart beating just below the middle of her shoulder blades. She clasped his hand as it moved back to her side. Lifting her arm and wrapping it across the top of his arm. Drawing interlaced fingers up against her chest. 

He resumed biting at his bottom lip. Feeling the softness of her beneath the cotton of her night clothes. The back of his hand with only a few woven threads between them. He had missed this. Had missed her scent. Missed her honesty with him about when he spoke too much. Her chastising of him for being drawn out into the atmosphere with the other stars, pulling on his ankles to bring him back into his own skin again. Her ability to ground him in reality. Had her curves increased? She felt rounder. Fuller. 

His thoughts and the contact they shared extracted a low burst of breath from him. He felt the blood rush through his body and land at the most base of his bodily points. That hadn’t happen before, at least not before they fell asleep. It was a usual visitor when they woke, but as he’d explained to her – and she understood – it was beyond his control and a wicked trick of nature. Her eyes opened. She blinked. Feeling the growth occurring at her behind. 

She retaliated in kind, an automated response. Her hips lifted to tilt her behind upwards. His eyes shot open and he groaned softly. He felt as though he had a fever. The heat in his cheeks was like a furnace. He tightened the clasp of his fingers between hers. She reciprocated, moving her supple body painfully slow up against him. 

“Ella…” he moaned, giving a little push against her.  
“Shh…” she quieted him. She felt that if they were to talk any further he would throw his wall up and fight to save the friendship rather than enjoy this moment.  
“El…” his breathing was growing more ragged with each brush she made against him. His eyes rolling back, lids closing down. Mouth opened, he bowed down, placing his lips against her shoulder. The contact seared her. His teeth grazing lightly across the surface. She felt the flat of his tongue as he pressed his mouth to her across the lines left by his teeth. She twisted her face back, looking over her shoulder to face him.

Pressed together, they fell into each others’ eyes and saw as if for the first time through spectacles of silver thread and kaleidoscopic colours. The room was spinning as his mouth crashed against hers. Her arm lifting off his to reach back. Fingers finding his hair and raking through, holding him against her as he in turn held her against him.


	4. Knives and Forks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Ella step over the mark, but both are stubborn and carry scars from relationships passed. Even though they know more about each other than themselves, how will crossing the line impact their friendship? How will their feelings change for one another and how will they communicate those changes? Will they ever be able to communicate how they really feel, to themselves let alone each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This originally began as a one-shot. It was set up as a series. I have altered so it reads in chapters. Original series post is here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1489042
> 
> Smut, Angst, Swearing

Was this real? What was happening. Would it change everything? Was it the right thing to be doing? How was it that this hadn’t happened before? What was so different now? Ella’s mind buzzed, deafening against the thrum of her own racing heart beat. A pounding dance tune in her head, topped with a droning siren. 

Tom’s hand against the side of her face, his thumb stroking along her cheek as his tongue pressed against hers winding in hungry flickers as their lips melded. His leg pressing its way between hers. His knee raising to press further along her inner thigh, forcing her to fling her leg across the top of his, almost reaching as high as his hip. 

Her thoughts dissolved against the driving bass of her heartbeat as it grew louder under the feeling of his skin, his heat; the feeling of him pressed against her in so many ways. Timing be damned, intention be damned, thoughts be damned, friendship… here and now… be damned. 

She felt his arm lift from underneath her neck and his strength propel her over onto her back as he pressed his weight down against her. She took it breathlessly. Feeling pinned against the Egyptian cotton beneath her back as his hands flew across her, along her side, across her breasts hidden beneath the cotton top. Fingers at buttons, frantically fumbling to undo them, a couple flying off in the process. Catching her bottom lip between his teeth and pressing down just enough to illicit a moan from her. She clawed at his back. He tensed and growled, only causing her dig deeper. Somewhere in the pits of her subconscious she had remembered him telling her about what that would do for him. 

The irony. They had discussed so much and divulged parts of their psyche that no one else in their lives had known about and it came to a peak right now. Both digging and sifting through the intimate knowledge they held of one another. Frantic little creatures pulling through filing cabinets in their minds, seeking the information that had been absorbed over a decade. 

Tom freed Ella from her top, half holding her up with his hand beneath her back as he whipped the remaining fabric from her. Instantly pressing her back against the bed with his stomach and chest. She felt the bristle of his chest hair against her décolletage, savouring the harsh tickle whilst tugging impatiently at his boxer briefs. He freed a hand to help her, holding his weight slightly off her as he aided her in getting them down. They reached his ankles as he kicked them off under the covers, bunching at the bottom of the bedding. 

The only time their lips had parted was to take breath, panting before reconnecting deliciously. Tom had managed to tug Ella’s bottoms down enough for her to shuffle them off, catching over her feet, forcing her to flick her legs out. The feeling of his hard length pressing between them against the softness of her belly had them both eyes rolling and gasping into open mouths. 

Tom knew he had to say something, but didn’t want to lose the momentum of the moment. It felt too natural to not allow it to happen. The lack of blood flow in his brain making him feel light headed, incapable of the conversation that needed to happen. He just acted on pure instinct, and knowing Ella so well, he was completely correct in his every deft movement and caress. He reached his hand down between their bodies, teasing her with the tip of his index and middle finger against the crease at the top of her inner thigh, just at the entrance to her centre. She bucked beneath him, surprising him. He reciprocated by plunging the fingertips between her lips and feeling her dripping wet under his touch. He moaned loudly, a rumble through his body vibrating against her as he rubbed at her slowly, purposefully. She ground against his hand, seeking more contact. His hand flattened, palming against her. 

He felt her fingers wrap around his shaft and gasped. Their kiss finally broken, lips only brushing against each other echoing each guttural sound. Completely primal. Fuck, she felt amazing. He shifted slightly, edging them both towards the his bedside table where he rolled quickly on his side and reached back, continuing his stroke against her with one hand as he fumbled about loudly in the drawer for a small package. 

Drawing one out he raised it to his teeth, ripping it open and pressing it against the back of her hand, slowly moving up and down over him, squeezing out the droplet of precum and using it to lubricate his foreskin enough to pleasure him. She stopped her movements and concentrated her action on getting the sheath rolled over him. 

Questions filled her mind again. She wanted to slam her conscience against the wall like a wet cloth and let it slip to the floor. She savoured the feel of the latex unrolling beneath her fingers across the velvet-covered rock beneath, gripping him with her other hand at the base. He was just as large as she had imagined he would be, had felt all those mornings when he’d wake pressed against her behind, apologising profusely every… single… time. No apology this time. No morning now. 

He wanted to speak up. To ask her if she wanted this. To make sure that this wasn’t about to change anything, though he knew deep down it would change everything. He couldn’t stop. She was as a magnet to him, pulling him inside her. Her pulling power too strong for him to resist. 

He raised himself above her, spreading her legs with a gentle persuade of his hand, flat against her inner thigh. Neither could speak, just kept concentrating on their breathing, drowning in the sensation that had lifted them beyond the point of return. He tried to communicate to her through his eyes that he was about to cross over and sought permission from her. Seeking some sign that he could recognise as an affirmative. 

She gave it to him in the form of a slow, forceful nod, feeling him pressing against her entrance. He could already feel how ready for him she was through the latex. Slick and hot. He grimaced as he pushed forward into her. They both inhaled sharply at the nudge. He moved into her gently, aware of the impact his length had, easing forward and allowing her to stretch to accommodate him. 

She had never felt so filled and flush with desire for anyone before. She lifted her legs, locking at the ankles across his behind, pushing him in deeper. He lunged forward and lowered his forehead to hers, not breaking eye contact. 

They set a languid rhythm. The fierce rush to get to this stage slowing to allow them loss in the moment. To feel every nerve ending, every sensation that they could. He couldn’t take his eyes from her, feeling her internal embrace. 

It was then he saw her light. Her vulnerability. The softness that he’d always known existed but hadn’t been able to witness beyond broken moments of drunkenness or heart break. When she’d allow him in enough to see the little girl. The child that needed protecting, that needed to be nurtutred and wrapped up and loved unconditionally. The woman, no longer ‘one of the boys’, the goddess and essence of her core self. He saw her now and felt a combined flood of emotion, eyes welling up as he moved at a more hurried pace. 

She lay unfolded for him, and he felt his heart ache for her. In that moment he realised truly how much she meant to him and just how much he had come to mean to her as he saw himself reflected through her eyes. It both scared and astonished him as he continued to drive into her, harder, with more force. 

She watched his face, studied it whilst meeting his thrusts with sharp breath. He was a god in human form. So strong, virile, masculine and protective. Taking of her, but filling her with such purpose and intention it made her heart burst. This man, who worried about being ‘manly’ enough. Who had only admitted to her that when he was younger he would hide behind humour because he felt inferior to his classmates in muscular size and movement. Always graceful, always sharply intelligent and cerebral to the throng of meat and muscle of his peers. 

Here and now, he was the picture of masculinity in her eyes. She had fantasised about this moment and dismissed the thought of it ever happening. All the times he would divulge to her about another ‘session’ with someone else with long brown hair. And now here she was, with him buried deep within her up to the hilt, setting a steady, rapid rhythm between them, muscles primed. 

Forearms burning as he propped himself up for better leverage. His hips flicking back and forth and round and round as she’d seen on many a dance floor, including in his kitchen at 5am making a late night post club snack. 

Her fading red hair spread out across the pillow, dampened with their efforts cheeks flush and nose stud glinting with each thrust under the dim lighting from outside. He savoured the new flavor beneath him. The spice of this woman he had trusted so much of his true self with, his secrets, his life with. It seemed to fulfill him in a way he hadn’t felt for a very long time. 

Here he was above her, reducing her to a quivering mess as she reached between them, circling his cock between her thumb and forefinger wanting to feel him pushing in and out of her. He tipped forward at her grip, tumbling against her. Face buried against her neck, lifting his lips to her ear and biting down hard on her lobe. 

“Uhhh….” She tipped. He knew. He remembered. She had shown him the bite marks from previous lovers and he had shown her his scratches. She contracted around him. His head whipped up, wanting to drink in her orgasm, splashed across her face. Feeling her thighs shaking around his hips. Her heels digging into his behind, her arms shaking and eyes wide as she free-fell over the precipice and into his arms. 

“El…. La…..” he grunted loudly. Pulsing inside her, forcing himself into her as deeply as was physically possible. Filling the latex between them. Streams of release over, and over again. Feeling as though he was losing life force and it wasn’t going to stop. She wrapped her arms tightly around him and pulled him to her as he started to ebb. A thick layer of sweat covering him. Little shivers as the last bursts shot from him. 

They lay in disbelief. Speechless. Trying to gather their breath, their thoughts, their strength. Tom’s nose was pressed against Ella’s cheek as she stared at the roof, his eyes squeezed shut from the exertion he’d just expelled. His cheek pressing her hair against the pillow. Eventually he found the energy to withdraw from her, reaching to hold the base of the latex against his base. They both hurt, delicious physical sensitivity and an influx of mixed emotion. He twisted, pulling the covers back and turned to sit on the edge of the bed, snapping the sheath off and tying a knot in it. He hung his head for a moment. 

Ella watched him, frowning. The moment he hung his head she felt a pang in her heart. He regretted it. She just knew it. She felt hot tears in her eyes and rolled on her side, preparing to try to sleep. It shouldn’t have happened. What was wrong with her to expect otherwise? 

Tom stood, sighing. He padded over to the ensuite, leaving the door open he flicked the used latex into the waste bin and lifted the toilet seat, relieving himself. He placed one hand against the wall and looked down to make sure his aim was on. He was exhausted and completely spent. Emotionally also. How could he have just taken advantage of his best friend? How could he allow himself to put the most important thing to him in jeopardy? What a fool. What the hell was he thinking? He wasn’t. He continued to chastise himself as he flushed and wandered gingerly back out into the bedroom. Ella looked to be asleep, her eyes closed and rolled on her side. 

Did she still feel anything? What was happening? Fuck. He climbed back into the bed and felt the blood returning to his brain with a million thoughts pelting around at breakneck speed. He wanted to roll over and wrap himself around her like he always did, but felt a wall at her back. Had he already lost her? But, she hadn’t stopped him? He lay on his back, hands tucked under his head. Unable to move. Eyes fixed on the ceiling. 

Ella sobbed gently and quietly beside him, feeling a million miles between them. What did she expect? That he’d suddenly declare undying love for her? They lay in their own spaces, digging the knives in themselves further. 

“Fuck…” He finally spoke and rolled over to touch her upper arm. She flinched and wanted more than anything to tell him that she couldn’t do this. She couldn’t keep being his friend now that they had just shared what they had. That she loved him more than she had ever let on and wanted him to love her in the same way, but she couldn’t. 

“La. I’m so sorry…” Tom felt her shift under his hand. He also felt his heart sink. He wanted more than anything to wrap her up, protect her, love her and tuck her up in the place that had just opened in his heart for her. He assumed by the bristle of her movements and the quiet sobbing he felt through the mattress that she instantly regretted their actions. He sighed. Feeling as though he was breaking into a million shards of glass and rolled over, away from her.


	5. Serrated

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after. Tom and Ella are both in their own private hell until the silence is broken and Tom finds the strength to confront the elephant in the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This originally began as a one-shot. It was set up as a series. I have altered so it reads in chapters. Original series post is here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1492858
> 
> Throwing up, emotional angst, smut, swearing

The alarm cut through the stilled morning like a serrated knife carving through a cardboard box. It didn’t help that she had spent the night tossing and turning back and forth, unable to shake the images and sensations of the night before. Ella groaned, fumbling about in the dark until she knocked her phone to the floor with a dull thud. She reached down, finding the plug and trailing back along the cord until she managed to open one eye and swipe the screen. Silence. Just two more minutes. 

Thirty seconds later Tom’s phone went off, louder and more ferocious than Ella’s. He sighed and picked it up. His eyes still open; five hours staring up at the ceiling. He felt wretched and sore. He lifted himself out of bed and yawned loudly as he made it to the ensuite, closing the door behind him softly. 

The harsh lighting hurt his eyes, and the lack of sleep had taken its toll. He was still adjusting to the time difference. It was 1am in Toronto and he felt if he crawled back into bed he would get the sleep he needed, but also knew if he did that he would have greater difficulty adjusting tomorrow. His reflection stared back at him. Bloodshot eyes, heavy dark shadows underneath sitting in the middle of a gaunt expression. He flicked the shower on and stepped under the hot jets, trying to warm himself enough to face the cold outside for his run. 

He had contemplated skipping on it, but knew from experience that would possibly be the worst thing he could do, as come midday he would be an emotional and mental wreck, more than he was right now. 

He had just fucked up the small pocket of reality he held dear, and knew he had also hurt the person closest to him aside from his family. He placed a hand flat against the tiles and felt his stomach churn. Bracing himself he heaved up last night’s dinner, his whole body in pain, contracting and squeezing out the heaviness he had weighing down upon him. He watched the remnants wash down the drain, wanting to sob from the physical and emotional upheaval. Echoes of the night turned over and over like the pages of a flicker book. 

Instead of cartoon stick figures running on the pages, an animated and vivid image of Ella underneath him, her eyes widening as she came undone beneath him, around him. Her milky smooth skin taut across her neck as it tightened, flush in her cheeks and the sounds she made. My god, the sounds she made. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and lifted his face to the jets, opening his mouth to rinse the taste of bile away. 

“What do I want?” he muttered to himself, squeezing out the shower gel into the palm and rubbing his hands together. His head hurt. His heart ached. He didn’t want to hurt her. He was sure he had hurt her. Didn’t want to lead her on, but he felt different about her. Felt like he had found her last night, nestled deep within the little room in his heart. 

It wasn’t just a fuck. He’d had plenty of them, and it was so much more than that. The problem was he knew. He knew what he was like. He knew what she needed, what she wanted from a partner. He’d helped her come to that conclusion after her last break up. Talked her through it – at the time he had wished he didn’t have to fly out the next day and wanted to spend more time with her making sure she’d be okay. 

She needed security. She needed someone devoted to her and who wasn’t afraid to be with her, the loud, often verbose and unconventional woman that she was. The bright spark. Someone not at all intimidated by her intelligence and left-of-centre ways. He kept coming back to the security. She needed someone who would be there in her life when she needed them. Come hell or high water. He was all over the place, no regimented life and no knowing where he would find himself around the world months at a time. 

Ella herself had said it all the night before when Tom had asked her why nothing ever happened between them.  
“Because I want what you can’t give me, and I would drive you to drink.” Her voice rang in his mind. Her laughter. The way she’d call him Twhiddleston. He hated it for the first twelve months, which is why she’d call him by that name more often. Eventually, it became a term of endearment and he grew to accept and even love it, because it was from her. No one else.  
“Oh, that this too, too sullied flesh would melt.” He sighed, he pressed his forehead against the tiles and closed his eyes. You overly dramatic fool. 

Ella lay curled in fetal position on her side, knees tucked right up. An angry voice in a harsh whisper to herself.  
“Get up, get moving. Paint a smile on your face and suck it up girl. You nodded. You consented to this. Don’t look into it. He doesn’t want you, he never wanted you. His questioning last night was just to check if you still had a crush on him. Matter of fact he’s an arsehole. He took advantage of you. He was just checking to see if he could get a quick fuck out of you, that’s all, nothing more. Move. Get up. Go, now. If you are going to salvage this friendship you need to rough it up. Toughen up. Harden up. Move, girl.” She squeezed her eyes tightly and re-opened them with a new resolve, pulling the covers right back off the bed and gathering her pyjamas, pulling them back on. “It was only a matter of time until you got used like this by him. Quit fooling yourself.”

She knew she would be able to shower once Tom left for his run. The shower. She sat on the edge of the bed, listening to the water cascading and working through the pipes in the old house. Knowing he was behind that door, naked. Vulnerable. Probably had his guard up. Probably gloating. No. She chastised herself for thinking ill of her best friend and recognised her own defense mechanism. If they hurt you, push them as far away as you possibly can before they have the chance to hurt you again. Her mantra. 

The water cut off as she was still deep in argument with herself. War being waged from the inside out. She heard the buzz of his electric toothbrush for a few moments until it went silent again. A gurgling spit followed by the door creaking open. Light flooding into the bedroom along with a burst of steam. He stepped through, like some scene from a science fiction film. Having been through quarantine. Towel around his waist he stood in front of her. 

Neither spoke or moved or made eye contact for a good five minutes until they both sighed at the same time. Ella chimed in first, standing back up and stretching. Painting a smile on her face. 

“Morning! You coming for breakfast at the café? I make the best coffee this side of the Thames.” She strode past him to her overnight bag, pulling out her clothing and chucking it over to the bed, which was messed up with the covers askew from where she’d pulled them back.  
Tom sighed, taken aback by her sudden perkiness. She was never a morning person at the best of times, and he squinted at her. Surveying her, scanning her for a hole that would display her true emotional state. 

“Sure.” His voice sounded unsure. Cautious, what was she up to? She was crying last night. Why did she suddenly seem so happy.  
“Yeah so go for your run and we can wander down from there when you’re back and cleaned up if you like.”  
“La… “ Tom had a knot the size of a football in his stomach still.  
“Come on, get a wriggle on. Time’s ticking.” She busied herself, sifting through her bag, flicking and folding and riffling.  
“La, don’t…” She spun around, their eyes connected for the first time since they climaxed. Bingo. He saw deep into them, straight through her façade and deep into her pain. 

“Oh, Lala…” he took a step forward, wanting to drag her into his arms. The usual response when he recognised the terrified inner child looking back at him from behind the usually sparkling blue pools.  
“No, pfft. I’m okay. Honestly.” She took a step backwards, away from him, and broke the eye contact.  
“We need to talk, La.” His voice dropped. He clutched at his stomach, feeling the tension tighten further. 

“What do you want, Tom?” She frowned, eyes cast downwards. Expecting the conversation she knew would come ‘the morning after’.  
“What do YOU want, Ella?” He grabbed at the top of his towel, making sure it was staying up. He felt the tension ease a little when he realised how stupid that seemed, considering he was buried in her last night and as such, she had seen and felt all of him. So fussing over a towel seemed a waste of energy. 

“It doesn’t matter, Tom. I know where it’s at. I know what it was. You’d better get dressed or you’ll catch a cold.” She brushed him off.  
“Fine…” he darkened. He hated it when she’d go into denial. It was hard enough to deal with when she shut him out over someone else, now it was about him. He felt both sides of the pain. His own and hers gnawing at him. 

“Fuck it Ella… Last night meant something.” Tom’s towel dropped to the ground as he balled his fists by his sides in frustration. He looked down, shocked, then set his jaw in determination and looked straight back up at Ella.  
She plopped back onto the bed, sitting, gripping at the edge, the combination of seeing him standing completely naked before her and not seeming to care all that much and the fact he had openly admitted that last night had meant something to him.  
“Shit, Ella. Look at me.” He barked at her. Her eyes lifted to meet his again. A lump caught in her throat as she trailed along his long body, resting on his sorrowful expression.  
“It’s me, La… It’s your Twhiddleston. Talk to me?” His gaze softened as his eyebrows lifted in the middle. She smiled softly, looking as though it hurt her to do so. It was the first time in all these years she had heard him refer to himself with her nickname for him. A rare occasion indeed. 

Suddenly, her phone buzzed breaking the intensity of the moment. A reminder flashed up across her screen.  
“What is that?” Tom frowned at the distraction. Ella glanced at it.  
“Reminder to finalise enrolment paperwork for Uni.” Ella stated matter of fact. 

“Uni? Are you finally going back to finish?” Tom’s voice lifted.  
“Start over. Too late to get recognition for the two years I’ve put in.” She sighed. Tom picked up his towel and sat next to her on the side of the bed, his arm wrapping over her shoulders, he pulled her against him. Draping the towel across his lap.  
“Oh La, I’m so proud of you. Writing?”

“Yeah. I can’t work in hospitality forever.” She dropped her guard and felt normal in his embrace. Discussing anything other than last night.  
“Hey…” He reached, placing his fingertip under her chin and pulling her attention away from her phone screen. “I’m seriously proud of you, and I’m here to help if you need. I love you, Ella.” The words dropped from his lips before he had even given them thought. 

“I love you, Tom.” She whispered, fatigued at putting up a front. “More than I probably should.” She continued, much to Tom’s relief. Then the hurried burble kicked in. A million words flying out of her mouth at a million miles an hour. “And I know you don’t feel the same way, but I can’t keep playing a role with you. You know me too well… and I can’t keep being your ‘go to gal’ because after the line we crossed last night. I can’t go back.”

Her eyes began to fill with hot salty tears, one trailed down her cheek.  
“I can’t go back either, La.” Tom frowned. Coming to grips with where things were starting to sit. “I… I’m scared.” He confessed. “You’re the best thing in my life, my rock, my earth, and I’ve such a tendency to fuck things up completely. I don’t know what I’d do without you in my life...quite.” He stared straight ahead, moving his arm from Ella’s shoulder and resting on his knees with his elbows. 

“I’m scared too, Tom. Petrified.”  
“It just felt so right, to be inside of you.” His voice dropped, feeling the memory within every fibre. “To feel you against me, underneath me, around me. To… be that close to you. But I know I can’t give you what you want. I can’t just drop my career. I can’t just shift my whole life around. I…” His brow furrowed in deep thought. Ella’s head grew light. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. 

“Are you completely serious, Tom, because if you’re not being serious about how you feel right now you are going to break my heart and…” she halted. Realising just how frightened he was of the situation. He looked at her, tears streaming silently, trailing along his sharp jawline and dropping from the side of his chin onto the towel in his lap. 

“Oh Tom… Oh … no please don’t cry, sweetheart. Please. You know I feel the same. You know how I feel. My needs can change. I can change… I am changing.” Ella knelt up on the bed and moved behind Tom, wrapping herself around him. He reached up, running his hand along her forearm across his chest.  
“I’m so scared.” He breathed, shaking in her embrace. 

“It did feel right, didn’t it.” Ella soothed him. Gently rocking him side to side, resting her chin on top of his head. He nodded slowly. Moving her head up and down with his movements.  
“I haven’t… I haven’t felt like that for such a long time. If ever.” He shifted around, facing her, taking her hands and winding his long fingers around them. He looked up into her eyes. 

“Let’s start by talking through things properly and we’ll go slowly. Work out what we want, and keep talk…” She was cut off. His lips on hers, fingers laced through her hair. His towel dropping to the floor again as he clambered up onto the bed, laying her down and moving across her. She wrapped around him, fingers nesting in his damp hair.  
“Love me like you’ve never been hurt before.” He growled against her mouth. 

She felt a burst of strength from him pulse through her, finding its way into her heart and kicking it to life. Their physical proximity pressed against one another re-awakening hope. Plugging back into the base of all they were. Flooding memories flying around them like a maelstrom, followed by peace as their movements slowed. Their frantic grasping and fondling gave way to purposeful caresses, slow and steady.


	6. Sourdough and Sweet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start to shift into gear for Ella and Tom as they start down the river current of their new direction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Language, Smut

His stomach gurgled loudly.

“Really?” Ella raised her head from where it lay across his chest, listening intently to his beating heart.

“What can I say? He chuckled. His voice suddenly changing pitch as he put on the tone of an older woman. “They call for dates and quinces in the pastry![1]”

 

“You’re mental.” Ella chuckled. “Let’s get up. I have to get to work and I’ll get you something to eat.”

“Must we get up?” Tom hooked his leg across Ella’s holding her to him in protest as she struggled to lift herself away from him. “You spend over ten years hiding away your feelings for me, yet being able to have me wrapped around you almost naked for our little sleep overs. But NOW you try to get away?”

 

“Don’t start me, Twhiddleston.” Ella turned around, slapping her hand down across his naked, vulnerable stomach. His legs unfolded and he groaned in surprise, doubling over. Ella made a break for it, rolling to the edge of the bed. _Those sounds he makes. They floor me. The sounds he made. Oh God, the sounds he made._ She took a deep breath in, savouring the memory of his moans and caught breath.

 

Tom laid on his back, hands tucked behind his head, watching her stand from the edge of the bed and pad over to the ensuite. He reached a hand down slowly and scratched at where his spent member laid across his thigh. Feeling a twitch at the base, he watched her behind sway from side to side. He was in awe of how he had not seen her through the eyes he was looking at her right now with.

“Fuck, La…” he groaned.

 

She heard him and spun around. Her breasts bounced, her soft round belly caught the light as the sun had started to rise softly through the curtains. The tuft of soft down between her legs, giving away her natural dark blonde hair colour. He sucked his breath in. _I could watch you forever. Just live inside of you._

 

She watched him, laid out on the bed. Hand languidly scratching lightly up his thigh, reaching his trimmed nest of hair, fingers stroking softly. _He’s so tactile_.

“I have to get ready for work, Tom! Stop distracting me!” She pointed her finger accusingly at him before spinning around and disappearing into the ensuite. She’d left the door open and he heard the shower clunk on.

 

Ella stepped under the hot water. Her jaw and cheeks stung. She couldn’t stop smiling and was in utter disbelief that after all this time her wildest dreams had come true. He loved her, He admitted it and they’d just had sex… again! She closed her eyes and exhaled. All the nerves, negativity and façade escaped from her mouth.

 

She quickly lathered up, using Tom’s shower gel. _Oh God, I’m going to smell like him all day._ She reached down between her legs, washing gingerly. She was still shocked by his size. Still in shock in general.

“Jesus, La…” His voice in the doorway scared the life out of her. She squealed, sound waves shaking the glass doors and bouncing back to pierce her eardrums. He was standing there, brandishing yet another rock hard erection.

“Tom! I have to get ready for work!” Ella whined.

 

“I’ll drive…” Tom took a step forward, his hand against the glass door, pulling it open and stepping inside. “I have to… “ Tom couldn’t breathe in deep enough to feel he was getting enough air. His head light. He grabbed the gel and squeezed it into his hand, pressing Ella against the cold white tiles.

“You’re not driving four blocks, Tom.” Ella rolled her eyes.

“Okay, we’ll run…” Tom pressed his lips against her forehead.

 

“Uh…” she moaned as his fingers found their way between her legs, massaging and lathering. His other soaped hand cupping and kneading each breast. Ella felt her skin burning under his touch.

 

Tom’s insatiable lust demonstrated itself in his gaze, watching every muscle move across her face, forming her expressions. He watched her intently, as he used to his own face in the mirror when he’d wanted to capture the portrayal of certain emotions.

 

Her hands raced frantically around the confines, settling on his shoulders. Holding herself up on him, her knees shaking. Thighs burning as her eyes started to close and head lean back. She came hard against his hand. Panting, feeling like every inch of her lungs contracted. He caught her, holding her up.

“Spin.” He commanded, turning her to face the tiles he grabbed at her hips, pushing her feet apart as he plunged into her from behind.

 

Ella gasped, clawing at the ceramic under her hands. Attempting to literally climb the wall. _Oh Tom, this is what you’ve told me about. Control. Take what you want. Fuck. I like it._ She groaned. Third time in twelve hours she was now accustomed to his length. Girth a perfect fit. Like the rest of him, long and lean. Vascular. Fit.

 

“I… Need… Uh… Ella… Fuck… Ella…” He plunged into her. Hard, fast, demanding. He had been so soft and languid and giving in his movements with her earlier and last night. Now he was hungry for her. Insatiable. It wasn’t about connecting. It was about needing her, wanting her, be inside her and have her come undone around him again and again.

 

He had been worried about their friendship last night. He had been worried about her feelings this morning, but now he was letting her see every single inch of him. She had seen everything else. His demons. His shadows. She had brought so much out of him and educated him in so many ways of life and art and it was now his turn to step out of the role of best friend and truly own the role of being her lover.

 

“Tom… I’m going to…uh…” Ella slapped her hand against the tiles. Loud, echoing the rhythm of him pounding into her. Filling her.

“Come for me, Ella… “ He bent over, biting down across the bridge of her shoulder she screamed out. No pain, only awash with the most intense pleasure she had ever felt. She suddenly understood so much more about him. About the angel-haired boy, the wide-eyed charmer. The intelligent, hilariously funny spirit who danced anywhere, anytime at the drop of a hat.

 

He pulled out of her in one swift movement, grabbing at himself. A spray of completion splashing against Ella’s naked behind. Watching as the hot water washed the evidence of his orgasm away.

 

Ella turned to face him. _Look at those eyes. Where did that animal come from, buried so deeply inside._ She reached up, wrapping her arms around his neck as he drew her against him.

“This is a new beginning isn’t it.” Tom breathed heavily into her ear.

“Do you want it to be?” Ella ran her hands across Tom’s broad back. Feeling the ridges of his scapulae under her fingers.

“More than anything. I want you, La.”

“You have me, Twhiddleston. You have me.” She pressed her lips against his, her fingers griping at his hair. Memory of golden curls replaced by the reality of clipped dark waves. Small lines from years of laughter playing at the corners of his eyes and no mask worn. No character, just the man. The man who had been closer to her than any other man in her entire life, and now in more ways than one.

 

*          *          *          *          *

 

“Two eggs, poached, sourdough and a damned good coffee?” Ella finished tying her apron at the back, making sure her pig tails were straight in the gilded mirror behind Tom as he settled into a plush red vinyl seat, framed in polished chrome. She made sure he was in the corner, near where her station was at the machine. He’d be out of direct view as the place started to fill up. He watched her intently as she clicked into work mode. Buzzing between pulling milk out of the fridge below, flicking levers and spinning dials. Rinsing milk jugs. The heady smell of espresso and her smile.

 

He whispered under his breath as he caught her eye across the machine.

“Speak low, if you speak love.[2]” _Look at her. My Lala._ He was interrupted as a plate landed on his table. A tall stocky man looked down.

“G’day, Tom is it?” Kit held his hand out.

 

“Tom, Kit. Kit, Tom.” Ella poured her tenth latte in so many minutes. A queue at the counter being fielded by Marie, Kit’s sister. Tickets coming hard and fast. Ella maintained her pace. _Bloody rush hour_. She wanted to sit with Tom and eat, wanted to watch him eat. But she had to work. She knew once they hit nine-thirty they’d have a half hour before the house-wife crowd arrived with the babies in prams.

 

“Wow, thank you so much, Kit.” Tom’s eyes were like saucers at the spread on the plate in front of him. “This is amazing, man.” He picked up his knife and fork, slicing through the thick sourdough and egg. There was even a small pile of salmon and spinach for good measure. “Nice place you’ve got here!” Tom gave him a thumbs up, covering his mouth as he spoke.

“Thanks, mate. You’re welcome any time. Coffee’s on the house.” Kit reached over the machine, taking the large mug Ella held up. He placed it on the table next to Tom’s plate.

 

 _Just the right amount of vinegar, amazing sourdough. God, I’m having a foodgasm._ Tom tried to catch Ella’s eyes, but she was busy. Really busy. So he focused on his amazing breakfast.

“Nothing free for me, please. Just look after Ella for me.” Tom placed a hand across his heart which was covered in cotton and wool. His knife palmed flat.

“I think she looks after me, to be truthful. I couldn’t run this place without her.” Kit winked over the machine. Tom found a lump in his throat and ground his teeth down on the toast in his mouth. _Did you just fucking wink …_ He caught himself and closed his eyes, counting silently to five, then opening them again.

 

“She has a knack for looking after people. Thanks again, Kit.” Tom grabbed at the large mug and took a deep gulp as Kit waved and walked through the throng of people who were sitting and eating, making sure they were happy with their meals. He disappeared behind Ella into the galley kitchen again. Full house, and line for coffee. Just another successful morning.

 

 _If I get to drink this coffee every morning, I will be a happy man._ Tom was floating. Creamy, strong, not too sweet. Just right. By the time he had finished his meal and read through the morning Guardian, Ella had tossed over the machine to him from behind the counter, the crowd had started to die down.

 

She flopped into the chair opposite him, a large mug of coffee at her fingertips. She raised it to her mouth and threw her head back, sculling it.

“You’re such a lady.” Tom leant on his fist, elbow on the table. Smiling at her.

“Are you mocking me, Twhiddleston?” She raised an eyebrow. She felt Tom’s leg brushing against hers under the table.

“Are you okay, darling?” He was concerned. It had been a very long time since he’d seen her at work and forgot how frantic it could get in hospitality. It had been such a long time since he was on the other side of things. Though he never ever forgot to treat staff with respect, especially after being mistreated by so many customers in the past himself.

 

“I’m tired.” She looked weary.

“I’m sorry…” He mouthed, eyebrows raised in the middle, genuine look of pain upon his face feeling it had been his fault from taking her twice in the morning.

 

Truth be told it wasn’t his fault at all. It was her lack of decent sleep from worry. From thoughts racing through her mind about her future, about having just made love with her best friend. About how life needed to and was going to change.

“Not your fault.” She mouthed back to him and he smiled. Reaching out to take one of her hands between his. Tracing his fingertips along the lines of her palm.

 

“What time do you finish up?” He cleared his throat, looking down at her hand.

“About 5. I have an hour off for lunch, but of course my lunch will likely be just before everyone else’s.”

“I’ll pick you up. I want to cook you dinner. I have the next few days off before I step into my next project. Come stay with me tonight again. Are you working tomorrow?” His mind ticking away.

 

“I’m off tomorrow. Thankfully, and the day after. That’s my weekend.”

“Then its our weekend if you’ll spend it with me. We’ll get you enrolled in Uni too.” He reached across the table, playfully patting at her cheek the way he would in farewell as he stood.

 

He stepped over to the counter where Marie stood, flicking through Elle magazine. Her eyes locked on the article she was engrossed in, then she looked up at Tom. Her jaw hit the register. Unable to speak.

 

“Call it Ten.” Ella rinsed out her mug and started to rinse the milk jugs. Tom pulled a tenner out of his wallet and tucked it back into his pocket holding the note out to Marie, who was grinning at him like a Cheshire cat.

“See you later, La? Have a good day, darling.” He waved, blowing her a kiss as he walked out.

 

“How the fuck do you know him?” Marie waggled the magazine, page open to interview with Tom in front of Ella’s face. She pushed it away, laughing at the young girl’s hysteria.

“He’s my best friend.” She smiled, eyes lowering, concentrating back on the coffee machine.

“Tell me all about him, is he single?” Marie wiggled her eyebrows. “He’s all cloak and dagger about it in this interview.”

 

“Em, he’s all cloak and dagger about anything that is his personal business. I’m not going to answer that, and don’t keep asking me questions about him. I won’t tell you anything.” Ella grinned, shaking her head.

“Spoilsport…” Marie returned to her magazine at the register, poking her tongue out as Ella turned her back. She whipped around, blowing Marie a raspberry. Marie grumbled and flicked the page.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Romeo and Juliet - Shakespeare (Nurse to Lady Capulet)  
> [2] Much Ado About Nothing – Shakespeare (Don Pedro to Hero)


	7. Tagliatelle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ella finishes her shift and is blessed with the next couple of days off. Tom prepares dinner and helps her select which pieces to include in her University application. Talking and music lead to flashbacks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Mention of Drug Use
> 
> Link to the Photoboard and Playlist (as well as Chapter listing). 
> 
> http://onehundredcandles.tumblr.com/cutlery
> 
> You'll notice some numbers after certain areas. These correspond with further information in the 'end notes' at the bottom of the story. Song titles and artist of linked songs, reference information on translations and any quotes used. 
> 
> Please excuse any typos etc. Late night - managed to scare off the writers block.

The antique bell above the door jangled loudly. Ella’s head popped up from behind the counter, a stern look on her face. She was ready to berate whoever had walked in, telling them to read the sign that they were, in fact, closed. Before she even registered who it was, she was gripping the reigns of self-control. _Never, ever be rude to a customer._

“I’m sorry we’re… Oh hey!” Her entire expression changed. Tom stood there in the middle of the café, his hands dug into his black denim pockets. Thick woolen jumper and leather jacket over the top. He grinned sheepishly.

“Lala, ready to go home?”

 

She looked exhausted, but beautiful. Her fiery strands had worked their way free from her short pigtails over the duration of the day, and she’d tucked them furiously behind her ears. She was obviously in pain from being on her feet all day. He took a step forward, leaning to the side to nod a greeting in Kit’s direction, who had ducked his head around the corner to see who had entered his establishment past closing.

 

“Hey man.” Tom rocked over onto his right leg, leaning.

“G’day Tom! She’s all yours.” Kit turned his attention to Ella who was restocking the front counter for the next day. “Go home, Ella. You’ve been told. Enjoy the next couple of days, and thanks for everything today, hon.” She didn’t need to be told twice, whipping off her apron and folding it. She pulled out the lockable drawer under the register and grabbed her bag, flying to Tom’s side.

 

He smelled like clean linen and citrus. She felt his arm curl over her shoulders, pulling her close. He planted a kiss on top of her head.

“Thanks, Kit!” She called over her shoulder as Tom escorted her out the door.

 

Kit poked his head back out, but they were gone with a ring of the bell. He shrugged and returned to his bleach spray.

 

*          *          *          *          *

 

“So the last thing I thought you’d want to worry about was food after being surrounded by it all day.” Tom lifted the lid, picking up the large wooden spoon and stirring through the pasta. It was al dente and perfect. He switched the gas off and replaced the lid, squatting down to fossick through his cupboard for a strainer.

 

“You’re amazing, Twhiddleston.” Ella propped her fists under her chin, perched on one of the bar stools at the table. She watched him intently as he poured the contents of the pot into the strainer, set in the sink. A cloud of steam erupted and she laughed a little louder than she had expected to as Tom displayed his flexibility, bending backwards at the waist to avoid being caught in the vapour.

 

“Thanks for helping me enroll back into University.” Ella reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone, searching through her music. She settled on a [playlist(2)](http://youtu.be/05nsExXk5a0) and connected to Tom’s Bluetooth speaker system.

 

“Shit, I remember this.” He chuckled. Returning the drained pasta to the pot, pouring the contents of the small skillet in, stirring it through. His hips began to twirl involuntarily. He danced around the small kitchen, collecting two large dishes that resembled a cross between a bowl and a plate in pristine white porcelain. Snatching two forks out of the drawer and grabbing two placemats out of the drawer below.

 

“Per te, bella. Tagliatelle con prosciutto e arancia. Mangia!(1)” Tom flopped the placemats down with one hand, straightening them. The other arm carrying the two large dishes, he placed them down on top of the mats one at a time. Forks interlaced between his fingers, he released them and handed one to Ella, gripping his own.

 

“Oranges. Thought you smelled of them when you picked me up from work.” She nodded, impressed at the culinary creation.

“Juiced them about five minutes before I ran down to meet you.” He winked, ostentatiously, as he planted himself on one of the bar stools opposite.

“It works for you.” Ella tucked in.

 

“Does it make me edible?” Tom reached his leg out underneath the tall table, his shin brushing against hers. She blushed. Mouthful of pasta almost getting caught. Her hand flew to her mouth, worried she was about to cough the contents out.

 

“You’re already edible.” She muffled.

 

“Sorry? Didn’t quite hear you, darling.” He raised his hand to his ear, creating a shell. A firm, playful connection of Ella’s converse against Tom’s shin was enough to provide him the message. He winced teasingly, eyes darkening.

 

“Oh I see. You want to play that game?” He grinned, winding the long flat strands of pasta around his fork expertly, pressing against the bottom of the dish.

 

“What game is that, Thomas?” Ella continued feeding her face. Not concerned with appearing delicate and feminine. She was hungry, famished and appreciated not having to prepare a meal for herself.

 

“Don’t play coy, Ms Rawlings?” Tom placed the contents of the fork against his bottom lip, waiting for Ella’s eye contact. She felt her body temperature rising.

 

They finished the meal, toying with one another under the table like two twelve-year-olds. Ella stood to collect their dishes, but found her hands pinned palm-down against the wooden table.

 

“Oh no you don’t. Allow me.” Tom took his hands off the back of Ella’s and ferried their dishes to the dishwasher. Rinsing them off and placing them in the top rack. “Which pieces are you submitting with your enrollment? Please tell me you have some new work. I think the last I saw was over six years ago.” He pulled the cork from the bottle of Riesling, fresh out of the fridge, and poured two glasses.

 

“I’m torn between the pieces actually. I’ve got them here if you want to have a look.” It had been so long since anyone else had read over her work, Ella was trepidatious. Even though it was Tom. The only person she had ever really trusted to look over her pieces in the past. She knew she would always get an honest opinion out of him. Sometimes that could hurt a little. She wasn’t at all accustomed to receiving criticism, but he had the knack for smoothing the waters as he delivered his verdict.

 

Tom placed the glasses down on the table and pulled one of the stools out so he could sit next to Ella. He glanced down at the print outs she produced from her bag. _Shit, my specs._ He looked around for his eye wear. Ella was on the case, reaching back behind him and grabbing the case from in front of the fruit bowl perched on the bench.

 

“Thank-you, La.” He pulled them out and positioned them across the bridge of his nose, picking up the first of the three documents. He raised the glass to his lips and took a sip. _Interesting, poetry._ His mouth lifted at the corners, breaking his stern-looking expression. Two pages of free form. He sped through them and placed them down.

 

“I like this one…” he paused in thought, pulling at the corner of his chin. “Not sure which one you wrote this about, but I’m jealous…. This is the ‘yes’ pile.” He grinned, looking at Ella over the top of his spectacles. She was chewing on her nail. A habit he’d known her to have the entire time he’d known her. It used to bother him to the point that he’d slap her hand playfully out of her mouth. With new eyes, he found it almost erotic. He hadn’t realised how long he’d been staring at her finger between her lips until she removed it to speak up.

 

“Come on! Next!” She dreaded the feedback, but at least he seemed to like that. _He doesn’t even realise it’s about him_. She pushed another document across the table towards his hand, resting on its side, fingertips running the length of the stem on his glass.

 

“Right.” He snapped out of his haze and cleared his throat. His eyes skimmed across the pages. “Interesting!” he breathed quietly. _Not entirely appropriate for a University application, but I’ll be keeping this._ She had written a rather detailed account of a previous encounter she’d had with a drummer from a band and disguised it as a short story. “Well they say to write about what you know.” His eyes opened wide. “Wasn’t this…”

 

“Derek…” Ella reached for her glass of wine and took a swig. Trying to calm her nerves.

 

“Yes, Derek…” He loved the way she wrote. Her use of words was blunt. Like a proverbial sledgehammer about the head. She didn’t use overly expressive language, but somehow managed to marry her words perfectly with intent, in order to convey the scene and the raw reality associated with it. _Fucking Derek._ He recalled how she had confided in him how her time with him resulted in her first vaginal orgasm. He silently chastised himself. _Two fucking pieces about other men._

 

“Don’t use this one.” Tom placed the papers to the side and reached to crack his knuckles gently, lacing and stretching his fingers. “I doubt plying the applications board with erotica is going to win you any favours.” He jested. Ella huffed quietly. She had been quite proud of that piece.

 

 _Why did I print this one off? Why is he going to read it. I don’t know that I want him to now, but it’s too late._ She handed over the final document. Quite larger than the other two, it was an excerpt from a script.

 

“La, I didn’t know you wrote these. I thought fiction was your thing.” Tom raised an eyebrow. Keen to get stuck in. He found the paper disappearing from between his thumb and forefingers, looking up he realised Ella was trying to retrieve it from his grip. “Nuh uh uh…” he shook his head and clicked his tongue. “Ta, La…”

 

She threw her hands in the air in defeat and turned back her almost empty glass of wine. She studied Tom’s expression as his eyes flew across the pages. He reached the end and placed the paper down between the other two. Ella was hanging on his word as to whether it would be acceptable or not. Tom, painfully slow, reached and took his spectacles by the arm, un-tucking it from behind his ear and folding them back into the hard case.

 

“For fuck’s sake, Tom…” She couldn’t hold it in. “In or out?” She drummed her fingers on the table.

 

“Patience, dear girl!” He chuckled, knowing full well he was torturing her. He laced his fingers together across the table top and took a deep breath in.

“La, it’s brilliant. I simply can’t believe you had this inside of you and have waited so long to let it out. It’s not what I’d call conventional in format or style, but it’s amazing...” he shook his head. _I need to read all of this. I’m hooked._

 

“You really like it?” Ella laid her hands flat against the wood, tracing a knot with underneath her index finger.

 

“I want to see the whole thing.” Tom pushed his stool out, twisting to face Ella. He prompted her to swing around, which she did shyly. He shuffled forward so his legs were between hers, his feet resting on the iron bar at the base of her chair. His hands landed across her thighs.

 

“It’s a work in progress… about the first night we spent together in your little flat.” She couldn’t look him in the eye, feeling like a lovesick teenager suddenly overcome with embarrassment.

 

“I know… that’s why I like it so much.” Tom’s thumbs ran back and forth, stroking. His hands remaining stationary. “I especially like the fact you included our conversation on our theory of past life recognition.”

 

“All set on your bed.” Ella continued.

 

“I’m amazed we didn’t take things further that night.” Tom’s voice lowered. Remembering the fact he had wanted to, but cared more for her than a momentary lapse of judgement. He hadn’t realised what he felt, and had conditioned himself to identify her as a friend as a result. _How youth is truly wasted on the young. If I had known then…_

 

“We didn’t know then what we know now.” She felt Tom’s fingertip under her chin, lifting her eyes to meet his.

 

“I’m so proud of you, Ella. So very proud of you returning to writing. You were always magnificent at it, and I completely understand how you let it lapse with all you had to contend with at the time. You amaze me…” He moved closer, sitting on the very edge of his chair. “You enthrall me… excite me… challenge me…” his lips landed softly against hers. Her head swimming with the sensation of his kiss. So tender and giving.

 

 _My girl tastes like the earth. Of a life lived free, of passion and dreams._ Tom kept his eyes closed as he pulled back, opening them slowly and smiling. A jolt of electricity flew through his body, taking in the beauty of her familiar face.

“I love that you became shy just then. I must be the only man to have lived and seen you blush like that.”

 

“You are. I… don’t know why.” Ella reached up, stroking Tom’s cheek. Her fingertips traced across his jawline from his ear down.

 

“Such fire in you. Seeing it tamed makes me want to wrap you up.” He found her other hand, taking it between his and tracing patterns in her palm.

 

The next song in the playlist started. Ella’s eyes widening with memory of the first time she knew full well how she had felt about Tom.

 

“Do you remember this?” Moby’s ‘[Raining Again](http://youtu.be/y_Evl9YH39E)’. Tom frowned. “I don’t expect you to remember too much about that night.” She smiled. _You were completely and utterly fucked up on that joint and vodka._

 

“Should I remember? I remember I like this song.” He continued with the lazy patterns across her hand.

 

“Yeah, you should and yeah you do.” Ella stifled a laugh, much to Tom’s chagrin. He started to get frustrated with her. Knowing she had a much clearer recollection of the events surrounding this particular song than he obviously did.

 

“I’ve never, ever seen you dance like that since, Twhiddleston.” She started to laugh wildly, finding great amusement in the visual memory of him dancing around the bonfire like a man possessed.

 

“Oh tell me, La. What the hell did I do? I honestly don’t remember? This was almost ten years ago when this album came out, and all I can recall is you and I used to consume a lot more alcohol than we do now!”

 

“Yeah it was, and you should thank your lucky stars it was before Facebook and before social media and mobile phone cameras, although I’m certain I have some photographic evidence somewhere… Close your eyes.” Ella took her hand from the side of his face and pressed against his chest in a rhythm with the music. _Da dum, da dum._

 

“Remember the bonfire? [Guy Fawkes night(3). ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Guy_Fawkes_Night)You, me, Kate, Daniel, Shawn, Shawn’s girlfriend and about fifty other people from around the traps. I think you'd just got to the end of your first year at RADA, I'd dropped out of Uni at that stage, and was well entrenched in my rebellious 'fuck the world' swing of things.”

 

“I remember those days. You were a bad influence... Continue, it’s helping.” Tom opened one eye, peering at Ella, his face contorted.

 

She halted the rhythmic drumming against his chest, clicked her fingers and pointed at him. “Close your eyes!”

 

He chuckled, obeying, shaking his head slowly side to side. He had flashes, remembering pieces that pulled together and fitted into place with little clicks in his mind, as he was transported back.

 

*          *          *          *          *

 

Makeshift lights sat in a semi-circle around the field. Powered by a generator, whose hum couldn’t be heard over the pounding music. The bonfire in the distance. People scattered between, jumping up and down.

 

“Here.” Ella grabbed Tom’s hand and turned it over. He looked up at her quizzically as she held the joint out to him.

 

“La? What’s this? I don’t do this kind of stuff.”

 

“Don’t play the goody angel-haired fucker with me Twhiddleston. You’ve had a harder time on the drink and done wilder things with your one-nighters than this. Take it and loosen the fuck up Uni’s almost over for the year. Enjoy yourself. Don’t fret. I’m right here with you.”

 

“I don’t know, La.”

 

“Trust me.” She whispered, grabbing his other hand tightly.

 

He shrugged, taking the smoke from between her fingers. He held it to his lips and took a lengthy drag. He wasn’t unfamiliar with the sensation of smoke being pulled into his lungs, but this smoke was different. Heady, thick and tasted like herb. He followed Ella’s method and held it in for a moment before letting it shoot out in a stream, adding a couple of rings at the end for good measure. He licked his lips, handing it back to her.

 

“Show off…” she chuckled, taking it from his fingers and taking another hit herself.

 

Tom and Ella passed it back and forth until there was nothing left but close burning embers near Tom’s fingers. He stubbed it out underfoot and reached for the water bottle being offered to him. He guzzled the remaining liquid down.

 

“Now what?” He frowned.

 

“We walk, we make sure we have water and we watch the lights and listen to the music and we wait, this stuff’s a creeper.” Ella reached her arms out above her head, stretching as tall as she could. Feeling her muscles lengthen and her bones crack into place.

 

He felt a dull wave wash through his veins, felt his heart changing pace and eyes change focus. He looked up at the portable lights. The thick lasers cutting through the chilly night air. Smoke billowing from the bonfire as the drumbeat permeated him. He looked around, eyes huge and they settled on his best friend. Ella was already in the zone, waving her arms around above her head as they slowly made their way closer to the bonfire where the others were sitting on an old fallen tree, preparing fireworks.

 

Instantly, the bass kicked in and Tom found himself pogoing, unable to stand still. Ella looked at him and smiled. He swear he saw butterflies shoot out from her solar plexus as she acknowledged him. He grinned, feeling like the corners of his mouth were meeting his ears, and his laugh. Hearty and loud, ringing in his own ears and making him laugh even more. He ran ahead and then spun on his heel, bouncing over to Ella. He grabbed at her hands.

 

Jumping up and down together, he started to twirl them both around in a circle, the background morphing into a haze. A giant blur behind the familiar face. The shining eyes. It was freezing cold but he felt like he was burning up. Like he was on fire. From all Ella had told him about having a joint in the past, he’d half expected to be fast asleep at a moment’s notice.

 

“I thought this was supposed to slow me down?” he yelled above the music, which grew louder as they approached the fire. Ella stopped in her tracks, feeling coursing electricity through her skin where Tom was still holding her hands.

 

“It touches everyone differently.” She mouthed. Her voice hoarse and unable to gather the volume to yawp over the top of it like Tom. He was a human foghorn. Always able to project his voice effortlessly.

 

He left go of Ella’s hands and shot out like a meteor, running free. Back towards the lights, zipping past her and shooting off around the bonfire, high-fiving anyone he passed.

 

After about three laps he settled back in front of Ella again, who was still standing in the same spot, watching him zig zag like a firefly. He fell to his knees, panting heavily as the music started to swing into the [next tune(5)](http://youtu.be/m-R_00gLLso).

 

“I fucking love you, Ella Rawlings.” He yelled. He felt as though time had slowed right down and felt and saw things he hadn’t noticed before. His skin tingled, he felt the weight of his clothing hanging off his lithe frame. _You’re fucking beautiful, Ella. Radiant. You’re an angel. Fuck, look at your wings._

 

Ella reached out, brushing her fingers through his thick curls. He stilled and felt his heart slow, could feel the blood pumping through his veins, and at her connection as time itself had started to slow with his inner rhythm.

 

He lifted back to his feet and lurched forward, grabbing with one hand at the back of her neck. He pulled her to his mouth. Pressing against her. Adrenaline shot through his body, a wild jolt making his muscles tighten and release. The sensation overwhelmed him.

 

Ella pulled back. Her own reaction making her feel as though the earth had dropped from beneath her. It had, as she landed on her behind at Tom’s feet. He looked down, his head tilting to the side, wondering what had happened to her. She raised her chin, looking up at him with a wild smile. She raised her fingers to her mouth. Feeling as though she had just experienced her first kiss all over again. Sparks as her nerve endings came to life from the contact with his lips.

 

Once Tom realised she was okay, and apparently quite comfortable sitting on the grass, he was off again. He raced back towards the bonfire for another couple of laps. Infected by the sudden change in the music as the drums kicked in full force.

 

He collided with someone, both falling to the ground in a heap., laughing they looked over to one another.

  
“Are you okay?” Tom felt the words coming out of his mouth a lot slower than they ran through his head. He found himself looking across at a petite woman, a short brown suede skirt, thick black tights across slender legs, black overcoat and long knee-high boots. Her long caramel brown hair hung like silk around her shoulders. Her eyes large and brown, long lashes flashing above them. He instantly recognised her RADA, a year above him. She smelled of Chanel and had skin that always looked as soft as a peach. She'd always turned his head. 

  

*          *          *          *          *

 

“That was the night I went home with Melanie.” Tom opened his eyes and spun around to face Ella who was smiling at him. “And it was this song. You put them together on your playlist?”

 

“They’ve been together on my playlist ever since.” Ella rubbed her hand in a circle against the soft wool covering Tom’s chest.

 

“La. Did I kiss you?” He whispered. Suddenly realising.

 

She was silent and just nodded.

 

“Shit… why did I forget that?” He took her hand from his chest and pressed it against her other hand, encapsulating them with his own.

 

“Because you had Melanie, sweetie…” Ella brushed the emotion rising in her chest off “… and you were completely off your face. That may have had something to do with it. Don’t worry, I was too.” She looked down, grinning at the floor again.

 

“Fuck.” He released her hands in a flurry, hurriedly running both hands through his hair. He stood from his stool, pressing Ella’s cheek against his chest. Stoking her hair. “I am so… so sorry, darling.”

“Shh… don’t feel bad.” She soothed him with the warm tone in her voice. “That was the night I met Anders.”

 

“The Swede?” Tom placed a peck on the top of her head, continuing to stroke at her soft red mane.

 

Ella nodded, her head moving beneath his lips. Tom sighed. The man who left her after eighteen months because he couldn’t change her into the British Rose he wanted. His career had taken off in law and the higher up the ladder he went, the more he’d look down his nose at Ella and her wild ways. The more he looked down on her, the more she’d retreat into herself. She had attempted to change everything about who she identified as, trying to fit within his world. Nothing she did was going to be good enough for him. The end of the relationship cemented her individuality as she swore never to change anything about herself for anyone ever again.

 

“Yeah… the Swede. Wow. That was a harrowing night when he left.” She recoiled in horror at remembering the depths of despair she sank into.

 

“That was when you turned up on my doorstep with blue hair. I liked that colour on you.” Tom smiled., recalling the shock turquoise. “You got lost with him. I felt like I didn’t know who you were. Remember when we had that argument and didn’t talk for months?”

 

“To think. Imagine if we’d gone home with each other instead of you with Melanie and me with Anders.” Ella wrapped her arms around Tom’s torso, allowing him to rock her back and forth.

“Wow. Would have saved a lot of heartache on both fronts.” Tom chuckled. Ella listened to the booming bass echo through his body against her ear.

“And you thought lines were never crossed between us?” Her knuckles were white, gripping his black jumper in her hands.

 

“I’m here now, Ella girl. I’m here.” He soothed her, breathing in the scent of her freshly washed, damp hair.

 

“Why didn’t I just stay with you that night?” He cursed.

 

“Because you met Melanie.”

 

“I simply can’t believe I didn’t remember that night, or kissing you. Oh god, I’d rather have gone home with you than Melanie.” he sighed. Remembering the turbulent relationship that lasted two years.

 

Amazing highs of traveling around the continent together. Fierce arguments over nothing that resulted in mind-blowing sex until it all fell apart and he discovered her in bed with a fellow student from Uni after returning early from filming Unrelated. The pang hit him physically and he shook at the memory.

 

“I love you, Tom. I’ve always loved you. Since that moment you kissed me. Beforehand I had tried to talk myself out of it, being spellbound when I spotted your curly blonde mop and shining eyes when you turned up for our first shift together. Head and shoulders above everyone else. You were a crazy beanpole of a kid. A wild spark that had been tamed through private schooling. You tried so hard to be composed. You loon.” She cradled his face between her hands.

 

“Why didn’t I see you, La? What in the hell?” He was pleading. Feeling as though he had been blind.

 

“Because you always have this guard up.” Ella lifted her head up, touching the tip of her index finger to the tip of his nose, forcing his eyes to cross. “Because you always have this stand-offish concern that sooner or later your lid will be blown off, and everyone will see inside your private universe. Well you’re not Superman and the things you choose to do in your private life are not your kryptonite.” She brushed her thumbs across his temples.

 

“You know me better than myself, and I know myself fairly well.” The sound of air escaping in a heavy sigh burst out of his mouth. “Make me forget Melanie.” He whispered. “…and I’ll make you forget Anders. Let’s erase the years between since that kiss, La. Let’s make things right.”

 

Ella lowered her fingers to brush across his lips, leaning in slowly.

“I’ll tell you what I’ll do…” She caressed along the outline of his mouth. “I’ll also make you forget the devastating hangovers we suffered.” She laughed.

 

“I’m so glad we’re all grown up and responsible now.” Tom let his lips part, feeling Ella’s finger press at the middle of his bottom lip. He snapped his teeth, capturing her between them.

“Ow!” She mocked. Holding the bit finger to her lips, blowing on it.

 

“Peace! I will stop your mouth.(6)” Seeing the perfect opportunity to quote The Bard, he grabbed at her hand, pulling it away and planted his lips against hers forcefully, feeling her turn to liquid in his embrace.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1)Per te, bella. Tagliatelle con prosciutto e arancia. Mangia! - translates from Italian to English as 'For you, beautiful. Tagliatelle (similar pasta to fettucine) with proscuitto (cured ham) and orange. Eat!'
> 
> 2) Graveyard Girl - M83 (Parkerlab's Dusted Remix)
> 
> 3) Guy Fawkes Night - link to Wikipedia article included in text.
> 
> 4) Raining Again - Moby (Steve Angello Remix)
> 
> 5) Slipping Away - Moby (Axwell Remix)
> 
> 6) Peace! I will stop your mouth - Much Ado About Nothing, Shakespeare (Act 5, Scene 4)


End file.
